


give me some rope

by nilchance



Series: ain't this the life [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Fellcest - Freeform, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Sibling Incest, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans, cross-universe bullshit shenanigans, detailed content warnings in end notes, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 00:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14152998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Sans really just needs to stop talking.





	give me some rope

There's a pile of dust on the doorstep. It'd probably be more effective if Sans couldn't see lint in it.

Humans hear the word 'dust' and they think it's the same thing as what they find under their beds. End result: the most half-assed attempt at vandalism that Sans has ever seen in his life. Kids these days.

Sans scuffs the dust with his slipper, unearthing a couple pennies. Without turning his head, he says, "Hey, kid."

A sullen silence. Then there's a rustle as the neighbor kid shifts guiltily on his feet. Apparently he thought he was being stealthy, tucking himself into a shadow to wait for Sans to react to his little prank. 

Maybe Sans should cut the kid a break. Work up some shock and awe. Get some pearls to clutch. Hard to get bent out of shape over a little vandalism, though, especially since he can hear the kid's folks fighting again.

"I didn't do that," the neighbor kid says. "Lots of people around here want you and your freak brother gone."

Sans glances at him sidelong. "Nice shiner you got there. How's your stepdad these days?"

The neighbor kid flinches, turning his head so the light mostly hides his face. "Fuck you, freak."

See, now the kid's just repeating himself. Sans was gonna give him partial credit for the dust thing, since that's pretty offputting from somebody who can't be more than 14, but two freaks in one conversation is a little much. What with Frisk and all, the creepy kid competition is pretty stiff these days. He pulls his keys out of his pocket. "You ever talk to that lady whose number I gave you? Tori's pretty awesome. Think you guys could help each other out."

"Fuck her too," the neighbor kid snaps, hunching in on himself. His eyes land on a bottle on the ground. Sans gets ready to dodge; just because the kid probably doesn't have the killing intent to one-shot most monsters doesn't mean he couldn't finish Sans off. But all the fight seems to go out of the kid, and he spits, "I don't need help. You're the one who's gonna need help."

Trying to be scary when he hasn't even murdered anybody. That's adorable. Sans puts his key in the lock. "Pretty sure everybody needs help sometimes. Y'know, in case you want that shiner gone before school tomorrow, I got some food that'll clear it right--"

The kid kicks a trash can over, a cacophony of noise, and storms out of the alley between their houses. It reminds Sans too much of Edge. He watches the kid disappear into the house next door, slamming the door behind him. The screaming fight doesn't even pause.

Sans turns and searches the street for any sign of red eyelights or grinning shadows. Nothing. Good.

With his foot, he pushes the dust off the porch and into the bushes. Papyrus knows about the graffiti already, and he doesn't need Red or Edge seeing it and freaking out like it was a death threat. He barely talked them out of handling things their way the first time, and he doubts he could do it twice. Better if they don't know. That's always his motto: other people's ignorance is bliss.

Once that's handled, he goes inside.

Which kinda looks like it got tossed by an extremely localized tornado. There are scorch marks in the carpet, but their security deposit has always been a lost cause. Papyrus looks up in the middle of putting the couch back upright to say sternly, "You're late."

Sans shrugs. "Work. You and Undyne have a good time?"

"Always!" Papyrus sits down on the couch once it's been restored to its proper place and pats it for Sans to join him. Sans does. Up close, there's a faint bruise under his eyesocket that Sans mistook for the usual dark circles. "But she was busy today, so Edge came over instead. Are you hungry?"

Sans stiffens. "You had a fight with Edge?"

"Some friendly competition? A chance to express ourselves through magic and learn things together?" Papyrus throws his arms out. "Of course we had a fight! It was amazing! You really missed out."

Well. Okay. He should've seen that coming. Papyrus won't kill anybody, but he's happy to throw down pretty much 24/7. 25/7, even. And Edge is a member of the Royal Guard. Papyrus would want to learn whatever Edge could teach him, even if that lesson involved one or both of them getting their ass kicked.

"Besides," Papyrus says, "we had some things to discuss! With violence!"

"... Right." It feels likes somebody took a swing at him and barely missed. Stupid. "Sounds fun."

(Did he feel like this when Papyrus offered the kid a hug of acceptance and didn't get killed for it?) 

(He trusts Edge not to kill Papyrus. He trusts Edge. He trusts him.)

(If he's afraid of his brother, no matter what version, then who the fuck is he?)

Sans puts his hand on Papyrus's arm. His ability to do healing magic is frankly pathetic, because of his low HP; it's more about making sure that he's not overlooking any major damage that'll require dragging over somebody who can actually heal. Papyrus tolerates it with a long-suffering air. "So what'd you guys talk about? Anything interesting? How to be a couple cool dudes?"

"It doesn't matter now," Papyrus says airily. Then he glances at Sans. "Wowie, is that how saying that feels?"

Sans can't say he doesn't deserve that. There's a particular set to Papyrus's jaw that says Sans can ask all the sneaky, sidelong questions he wants; Papyrus isn't giving him a goddamn thing. As far as Papyrus is concerned, it's over.

Maybe Edge told Red. It always pays to have alternate sources of information. Friends. Fuckbuddies. Same thing.

Sans takes his hand back. There's no serious damage, just some bruises. "Nah, you've gotta slouch more and stick your hands in your pockets. Maybe add a pun or something."

"I don't have pockets! That must be the problem." Taking pity on him, Papyrus pats Sans's shoulder. "Don't worry, brother! Friends have teeny tiny tiffs all the time. We understand each other much better now!"

"Uh-huh. So who won?"

"Oh, really, Sans. That's not the point!"

Sans looks at that expression, then grins. "So it was you, huh."

"It was all about the spirit of friendly competition," Papyrus says, with an ostentatious wink. "We both won the friendship trophy!"

He would pay money to have seen the look on Edge's face. His brother is so cool. 

"Nice." Sans holds out his fist for a bump. "Congrats on the friendship trophy."

Papyrus returns the fistbump. It doesn't have the enthusiasm of the ones he gives Undyne, which usually have Papyrus shaking his hand out and mouthing "OW" when Undyne's back is turned, but it's pretty great anyway.

Then Papyrus leans back on the sofa, looking sly. "Speaking of friendship, did you and Red have a nice time?"

Sans doesn't flinch, but he knows he fumbles the dismount when he says, "Yeah. We went to Grillby's, ate some burgs, told some jokes... it was a barrel of laughs."

"Really?" Papyrus says. "Because I was talking about the sex part."

"Oh jeez." Sans covers his face with his hands. "Holy shit, no. No."

Papyrus makes an exasperated noise. "Honestly, Sans, I am an adult."

"You don't even have--" The word won't come out of his mouth. Sans gestures vaguely with his free hand.

Very dry, Papyrus says, "And I don't watch baby cartoons, but I know too much about tentacles."

With a noise of absolute despair, Sans puts his head on the arm of the sofa and covers it with his arms. This is his home now. His hole of shame.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," Papyrus says helpfully, totally not helping. There's a gleeful note to his voice. "I can explain about the tentacles!"

"Next time Undyne's house burns down, she's sleeping in the shed," Sans says, muffled.

"Well, you weren't going to explain it to me! You can hardly be upset she did it for you!"

Sans was kind of figuring the timeline would end before he had to have The Talk. It was the one bright spot in the whole clusterfuck.

Shit. He drags his head up to look at Papyrus. Word by painful word, he manages, "Uh, you know, the tentacle thing isn't--"

"Yes, I know," Papyrus says mercifully. "You can find a lot of interesting things in the dump! Now, are you going to sit up and talk to me like we're two mature adults?"

"What the hell gave you the idea I was a mature adult?"

"Hm. You may have a point. But pretend to be one for five minutes? Please?" Papyrus gives him the dreaded sincerity face. 

Ugh. Papyrus really knows how to work him. Sans sits up, rubbing his face. "Yeah, okay. Did Red tell you?"

If so, Sans is going to... okay, do absolutely nothing, but he'll be really cranky about it. He knew Red would tell Edge everything, although the living room ambush was a little uncalled for, but he wasn't expecting Red to tell the whole damn world.

"No, of course not! I knew something was going on." Papyrus says. "You just look different. Happy? Also you did your own laundry, three times, but only the pants."

"Heh." Sans grins at him, sheepish. "Can't put anything past you, huh."

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," Papyrus says. "I'm very observant! My keen eyes miss nothing. Do you want to borrow my dating manual?"

Yikes. Very quickly, before that idea can germinate, Sans says, "No, bro, that's okay. We're not dating."

"I see." Papyrus considers that, frowning. "That was rude of him, to trap you in a prison of passion! Granted, tepid passion based around very bad jokes, but--"

"Nobody's in boner jail, dude. I knew what I was getting into."

Papyrus's expression says that he's trying to figure out whether or not to be offended on Sans's behalf. It's kinda nice, considering that he knows all of Sans's (many) faults and isn't shy about pointing them out. Maybe he figures Red is the only one who deserves to deal with Sans's bullshit. 

"Is this a thing where you're telling the truth and you don't mind or where it's really a big deal and you don't want to admit it?" Papyrus asks.

"Nope, it's the truth," Sans says. "The whole point is that it's not gonna get complicated."

Ha. There's a looming complication already, one that wears stupid pants and goes by Edge.

Papyrus says, "You've never read one of Dr. Alphys's friend fictions, have you."

"No, I definitely read 'em," Sans says. It was pretty much the only way to cheer her up in those last years underground. Pocky, anime and live readings of friend fiction. He couldn't solve her problems but he could tell her Asgore probably wasn't that flexible at his age. "Nobody's gonna cry a single crystalline tear and I'm not gonna get my heart broken. Mostly because I replaced all my emotions with shitty jokes."

"That's not even a little true," Papyrus says. "Though your jokes are pretty terrible. Besides, feeling things is nice! And occasionally terrifying and awful! But mostly nice. Why wouldn't you want to feel things?"

Welp, that's a topic Sans won't touch with a ten foot pole. "What, for Red? 'Cause Edge might actually shank me."

"You don't have to be worried about that," Papyrus says. "He wouldn't hurt you any more than I would, because he's still a me."

Sans blinks, thrown by the serious expression on Papyrus's face. Knowing he's not going to get an answer, he asks, "Is that what you guys were fighting about?"

"Not everything is about you, Sans," Papyrus says primly. "Or about Red."

"I didn't mention Red."

"And there's no reason why you should've. Although you're such good friends," Papyrus lays hard on the word, waggling his brows. "Of course he's on your mind. And several other things, I'd imagine."

"Dude," Sans groans, putting his head back in his hands. "No, c'mon."

"Are you using protection?" Papyrus asks with a tone of genuine concern that doesn't match his grin.

"Yeah, I bought a muzzle." Sans gives him the sad eyes, which are much less effective than Papyrus's. "You're killing me. Uncle."

"Yes, yes. I'm finished for the moment, lack of uncles aside." Papyrus reaches out and gently rubs his knuckles on the top of Sans's head. "It's only because I love you. And maybe a teensy bit because I want revenge for all the times you've made my life difficult. And maybe a teensier bit because I'm worried, as is my right as your much wiser brother."

Sans leans into the world's gentlest noogie. "You worry too much."

"I worry a perfectly appropriate amount," Papyrus says. "But fine! If you ever change your mind about needing the manual, it's right between Fluffy Bunny and Journeyman's Guide to Puzzle Engineering."

"Thanks." His brother really is the best.

"And don't forget that I'm an excellent giver of relationship advice! With testimonials from Undyne, Dr. Alphys and Monster Kid!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Sans says. Fuck knows Papyrus listened to Undyne moon over Alphys enough, even if most of his advice was just repeating 'tell her you like her' in an increasingly loud and exasperated tone. "Y'know. If I ever get in a relationship."

"You have no romance in your soul," Papyrus sighs. "You're lucky I'm around to be your prosthetic sense of romance and all things relationship! What would you do without me?"

Sans's soul gives a warning twinge. He rubs at it through his shirt. “Why, are you going somewhere? Got a vacation coming up?”

"I would never go on vacation, I’ve told you. You never listen.” Then, a little more carefully, like he's not sure how Sans is going to react, he adds, "It's not just us anymore."

"Nope," Sans agrees. That's been true for a while. There's the kid, of course. Undyne; he's pulled her hair out of the shower drain enough that he's pretty sure she counts as his buddy too. Tori, who never met a person she wouldn't mother and who helps him annoy Papyrus with puns. Alphys, the only one aside from Papyrus who saw Sans in college and knows what he used to be like before he broke.

But he's pretty sure he knows who Papyrus is talking about. Red and Edge, grafted onto their lives like a transplanted organ, foreign and necessary.

Two more people to worry about. Two more people to keep secrets from. Two more people to lose.

"I'm glad they're here," Papyrus says. "It's... it's not very good to have just one person for everything, Sans."

Papyrus sounds almost apologetic, like he hasn't been carrying Sans's ass for the last six years. Like Sans hasn't taken enough from him.

"No," Sans says. "You're right. I know. I'm working on it."

"I know," Papyrus echoes. "You're trying new things. I believe in you! So if you smooching Red and completely avoiding emotional intimacy is what it takes, I'm all for it. Even if you don't have lips."

"We're sans lips, you could say," Sans says. Papyrus makes a disgusted noise. He waits to see if Papyrus is done being supportive. Apparently so, because Papyrus is waiting for him to say something. Sans nods. "Am I supposed to go do that right this second? 'Cause I just got home."

Exasperated, Papyrus says, "Of course not, I made you dinner and everything."

“Okay.” Sans studies him, then looks away. “You busy tonight? Red’s great and everything, but I kinda miss hanging out with you. Figured I’d stay in.”

“Really?” Papyrus asks, delighted, then clears his throat. “My social life is bustling, but I suppose I can clear my schedule for you.”

Sans grins sidelong at him. “I mean, I don’t wanna put you out or anything.”

“Nonsense!” Papyrus says. “Stuff and nonsense. No, we’re going to watch those movies with the interesting puzzles and engage in platonic fraternal bonding. It’s critical brother/friend maintenance. I insist.”

Interesting puzzles. “You mean Saw?”

“Of course,” Papyrus says. “They’re very educational. I suggested Lady Toriel play them for her class and she seemed strangely reluctant, but the engineering is sound. Maybe not the second one, though. The villain cheated most shamelessly.”

“Yeah, maybe stick to the mutilation that had integrity,” Sans says. It’s possible that Gaster fucked them both up.

(Don't think about Gaster.)

“Exactly! Young minds are so easily confused.” Papyrus stands, headed for the kitchen. “And the spaghetti sauce is red, so there’s an aesthetic theme.”

“It’s all about the presentation,” Sans agrees.

“And then you can tell me what you and our young neighbor friend were discussing on the porch!”

Papyrus doesn’t miss much. Sans worries about that. He worries about that a lot.

“Sure,” Sans says. “We’ll watch some gore and I’ll really spill my guts.”

From the kitchen, Papyrus groans. That’s okay. Sans can tell he’s laughing on the inside.

***

Sans expects certain things when he’s working the hot dog stand. Sun shining through the trees in the park, humans and the occasional monster jogging for whatever masochistic reason, tourists who want to gawk at the monster embassy conveniently located across the street. People who come to stare at the monster selling hot dogs. People looking to be bilked, basically. He’s not expecting Edge. At least he came during a lull and isn’t scaring off customers by scowling up the place.

"Hey." Sans leans his elbows against the hot dog stand, grinning up at Edge. In the daylight, in a park with human and monster kids trampling each other like puppies, it's easy to shrug off what happened the other night. It was embarrassing, yeah, but a lot of Sans's life is embarrassing. Next time they'll put a sock on the door or something. It's not gonna get weird. "Fancy seeing you here.”

Edge squints at him. Then, fast as a striking snake, he whips a bone construct at Sans's face.

It misses. Sans ends up five feet to the left of where he standing without making a conscious decision to move. The bone pierces the ground and sticks straight up like the world is giving him the finger. Score one for his skittish reflexes. His bones prickle from the sudden burst of adrenaline. "Wow, okay," he says. "We're throwing things now. That escalated quickly."

Looking strangely satisfied, Edge strides past him (Sans resists the urge to take a couple steps back) and picks up the bone. "We're not throwing things. I threw a thing, singular, and you didn't throw anything back.” Almost hopefully, he adds, “Unless you'd like to?"

"Pass," Sans says. The hope leaves Edge's expression, headed for happier destinations. Sans feels a little bad, but he doesn’t even playfight with Papyrus these days. There's no point fighting when they both know he’ll lose. He watches Edge put the bone on the counter, frown, and readjust it to a more symmetrical angle. "Something on your mind?"

Apparently finished, Edge crosses his arms. "You look like shit. Now I know you're not going to get yourself killed because you're too tired to dodge."

If Sans tilts his head and squints, that makes sense. Papyrus logic. It looks obscure from the outside but has an internal consistency, like physics equations.

"You tested whether I was gonna get killed by trying to kill me," Sans says.

It's not a big construct. It's about the length of Edge's pinky. Sans used to throw bones that size when Papyrus was first learning how about combat magic. Baby's first offensive weapon. It's insulting. He’s not even that tired, comparatively speaking.

"I have control over my magic. If it hit you, it wouldn't have touched your HP," Edge says. "If I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead."

"You should put that on a greeting card," Sans says.

"I'm not going to be careless with you," Edge says.

Sans must be spending too much time with Red lately, because the way Edge says it, like Sans is simultaneously too broken and too important to take risks with, comes across as almost sweet. Condescending and deeply misguided, but sweet.

"You're a peach," Sans says. "Did you just come over here to check my reflexes or are you pulling cats out of trees again?"

Edge grimaces at the reminder. "No. I told her next time I was just going to drop her. She wouldn't stop trying to sell me garbage burgers."

"That's catitalism for you," Sans says. "Gotta scratch out whatever cash you can. Besides, cats have a real fondness for litter."

"The fact that you think you're funny is more of a joke than anything you say," Edge says. 

"Ironic, isn't it," Sans agrees. 

A human kid darts by with a frisbee in their mouth, their horrified parent only a couple steps behind. Edge automatically tracks the movement, eyes narrowed, body tense. Sans waits for him to see that there's no threat and uncoil a little before asking, "You busy?"

"I'm amazed you know the word. No. I'm on..." Edge's expression draws tight with distaste before he manages to spit out, "break. Both the king and the captain insisted."

"Those bastards," Sans says solemnly. Edge turns that narrow-eyed look on him and Sans makes an attempt at looking innocent. It won't work, but it makes Edge rolls his eyes like he's trying to see the back of his skull.

So the mystery of why Edge came to see Sans instead of somebody he can tolerate for longer than fifteen minutes is solved. Mysteries where people just hand him the answer are his favorite kind.

Sans says, “Since you're here, you hungry? I won't even charge you. It's the emo kid discount."

"Why do you keep offering me food?" Edge demands.

Serious face. Serious question. Too bad for Edge that Sans never gives serious answers.

He shrugs. "Papyrus gets cranky when he's hungry. You're pretty much 24/7 cranky. Maybe you're hangry. Besides, you're all skin and--"

"Skeleton puns," Edge says flatly. "O, unparalleled delight."

Sans grins. "I'm telling you. Hangry."

Edge asks, "Has my brother told you what offering food means where we're from yet?"

Edge and Red don't talk about where they're from. Edge doesn't talk about much in general except stuff that's immediate and concrete and, usually, pissing him off. As far as Red goes, their old home is like the resets, a topic he and Sans avoid like they're sleeping rough in Hotland and the floor is literally lava.

What Sans knows about their universe is mostly guesswork based on little things: their scars, their LV, the way Edge never stops watching for an attack, their dysfunctional relationship. It doesn't paint a pretty picture. The fact that they could get dragged back as unceremoniously as they got shoved here, just gone, is one of those things Sans tries not to think about. He’s spending a lot of late nights in the shed fucking around with the machine like he’s suddenly going to figure out how to fix it. He isn’t getting anywhere, but it helps him sleep at night.

Well. Sometimes, anyway.

Sans studies Edge's face, trying to get a hint. He doesn't look offended, at least, or hurt. Then again, Edge probably wouldn't show that he was hurt if he was bleeding to death. "Okay. I'll bite."

"So I've heard," Edge says mildly.

Nnnnnope. Sans is ignoring that. He rubs at his suddenly burning face. "What does it mean where you're from?"

"No," Edge says, "I think I'll let him tell you. It'd be cruel to deprive him. Or you could figure it out. You're intelligent."

"Those are fightin’ words," Sans says. "I'm an idiot, thank you very much."

"Clearly," Edge says. He rests his elbows on the cart with a creak of leather that could be his jacket or his stupid, stupid pants. "Or you wouldn't be fucking my brother."

Okay. Or maybe Sans has no idea why Edge came to talk to him after all.

Having this conversation from a safe distance seems like a smart idea, but Sans strolls back over to the cart. It's not like Edge couldn't kill him just as easily from several feet away. It's not like he's afraid of Edge.

(Except maybe a little murder isn't what he's really afraid of. Edge just makes him quietly unsteady for reasons he can't quite figure out. Guilt, maybe.)

Sans keeps his hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Yep. I'm fucking your brother. Is that a problem?"

Edge doesn't even have to say yes. If Sans sees any hesitation on his face, it's over. He's not going to fuck anybody over for the sake of getting off, particularly not Edge.

Fortunately, Edge means it when he says, "It's not a problem. If it were, you'd know. Or did you miss the part where I could easily kill you?"

That probably shouldn't be comforting, what with the killing Sans part, but at least he knows Edge isn't pissed. He doesn't think Red would do something like that to Edge, but miscommunications happen. Stuff that sounds good when it's only dirty talk is less than great in real life.

"So the living room thing," Sans says. "You do that to everybody Red brings home?"

Edge's brows go up. Then he laughs, an actual laugh, the first one Sans has ever heard from him. "You think this has happened before?"

"Yes?" Sans says warily.

"He's mine," Edge says. "I don't share well."

"That seems healthy," Sans says.

"We're both alive," Edge says, which is hard to argue with. "I know what you think of it. You're not going to interfere, so I don't actually care."

Sans would shrug, but he doesn't want to move while Edge is staring at him like this. Maybe he's like a T-rex and he can only see movement. "Interfering isn't my style."

"You said otherwise when you were so mistakenly worried about my honor," Edge says. "What were you going to do if it turned out you were right?"

Wait until Red was sleeping. Kill him or die trying.

"No idea," Sans says.  
.  
The look Edge gives him makes Sans sympathize with anyone he's ever judged. It's a look that says Edge sees right through him, that old skeleton joke that doesn't feel like a joke right now. Papyrus gives him that look sometimes, but when he does it, there's a fondness softening it. Papyrus knows him and loves him anyway. Edge...

Edge isn't his brother, doesn't actually like him, and mostly just looks like he's seen Sans naked and isn't particularly impressed. Then again, Edge has seen Red naked, so he does kinda know what Sans looks like naked, which is a thought Sans would seriously like to unthink.

“Okay, look,” Sans says. “Red’s not wrong. I’ve never screwed around with somebody who had a--” He’s not gonna say boyfriend. “--whatever. If we could just pretend it isn’t happening, that’d be great.”

“Why?” Edge asks.

It’s a blunt force question meant to bash right through Sans-flavored bullshit. These days Sans has to deal with three people who know exactly how he operates instead of just one.

“I dunno,” Sans says, frustrated. “You don’t think it’s weird? I mean, I know your metric is messed up and everything but you’re hanging out in the living room while Red and I have sex.”

“I realize that denial is your raison d'etre, Sans,” Edge says, terse, “but I’m not going to avoid my own house or pretend that he’s not mine. I’m involved. If that’s not acceptable to you, then walk away.”

When he says it like that, it sounds reasonable. Sans leans against the cart, not liking the little sting of guilt. “So you’re involved because Red’s involved.”

“Obviously,” Edge says. “I thought that would be clear to you.”

“Like I said, I’m an idiot,” Sans says. Edge’s eyes narrow a little but he doesn’t interrupt. “What do you get out of this aside from some dude screwing Red? What’s your angle?”

“You’re paranoid for someone from such a soft universe,” Edge says, but he doesn’t sound disapproving.

Yeah, he’d love to blame that on the kid, but he came pre-broken. Sans shrugs. “Maybe I want stuff to be fair. Maybe I want you to be happy. Maybe I just don’t want you to get sick of my bullshit and smother me in my sleep. Pick an option.”

“If I smothered you every time I got sick of your bullshit, Papyrus would’ve been an only child within the first two hours,” Edge says. Sans snorts and Edge’s mouth turns up at one corner. “Suffice to say I’m quite satisfied with the situation.”

Sans waits for a little clarification. Doesn’t get it. “Because why?”

“It pleases me to let you have him,” Edge says. When he gets that malicious glint in his eye, he looks like Red. “I derive sexual pleasure from it. Do you want details?”

“Fuck no,” Sans says with great feeling.

“I didn’t think so,” Edge says.

"Is that why you asked me how he was?" Sans says. "So you could get off on it? Because I kinda don't wanna be dragged that far into your kinky bullshit."

"Maybe I want ‘stuff’ to be fair." There's an almost smile playing at the corners of Edge's mouth, surprising in its lack of anger. Before Sans can say anything, he continues, "If I thought you were worthless, I wouldn't let you near him."

As far as compliments go, it's not the kindest, but Edge means it. Sans may have to re-examine some stuff later, when Edge isn't looming here waiting for an answer.

Sans opens his mouth and Edge holds a hand up like the world's edgiest crossing guard. "Don't try to remove the collar. If you want to leave marks, talk to me first. If you want to hurt him, talk to me first."

"I don't want to hurt him," Sans says.

"Everything else I leave up to his discretion," Edge says. "As for you, I may ask you questions but I won't ask to watch or to participate."

"Good," Sans says bluntly. "Because I'd tell you no."

"So I assumed." Edge considers him a moment. "I won't touch you unless you ask."

It's like Edge dragged a finger up his spine, like a shiver. Sans rolls one shoulder, trying to shrug the feeling off. "Could you not say it like that?"

"How did I say it?" Edge says. His eyes are dark. Sans thinks of the underwater caves in Waterfall and the careless swimmers who drowned there because they lost track of where they started.

"Doesn't matter," Sans says. "Never mind. I get what you're saying. I won't mess with the collar, I won't leave marks, I won't hurt him. I'll try not to freak if you ask me questions if you'll try not to make it weird."

"Yes, it's my questions that makes sleeping with my brother, an alternate universe version of you, weird," Edge says dryly. "Imagine the completely normal sex that the two of you could be having."

Sans cracks a grin. "Save a little sarcasm for the rest of us, buddy."

"Heaven forbid you have to learn to tell actual jokes," Edge says. "So the situation is acceptable to you?"

"I'd prefer about 99% less talking about stuff, but sure," Sans says.

"Communication is important to minimize risks," Edge says. It sounds like something he says a lot.

"Just curious," Sans says, "but do you have a relationship handbook?"

Edge's eyes light up with interest. "Of course. The advanced edition with footnotes. Do you want to borrow it?"

Yeah. Under the resting bitch face, scars and temper, he's still Papyrus. Sans relaxes a little. "Maybe later. I figure you know what you're doing."

Edge leans forward, suddenly watchful, like a cat about to pounce. He says smoothly, "And since communication is so important and these ridiculous breaks are apparently mandatory, we should spend more time together."

Sans blinks at him. He has the feeling that Edge is trying to herd him somewhere Sans didn't need herding. "I mean, I guess? If you wanna hear more of my great jokes, I'm not gonna tell you no."

Pleased, Edge straightens out of his predatory hunch. "I can survive more attempts at humor if I must. You're interesting."

Judging from Edge's tone, Sans is interesting like a car wreck. That's okay. Sans feels pretty much the same about him.

He's Papyrus, deep down. And if there are things that he wants that Sans can actually give him, they're all his. The dude deserves a little happiness in his life.

"I'm all yours," Sans says, and regrets it less than half a second later. "My time, I mean. Just save throwing shit at me for special occasions, all right?"

"Then don't look like shit," Edge says with about as much sympathy as Sans expected. "Try sleeping. I hear it does wonders."

"Yeah?" Sans says. "And when's the last time you slept eight hours, smartass?"

"When Grillby tried to scorch through my spine four years, I think," Edge says, a furrow in his brow. "Sa-- Red insisted. He was quite irrational about it."

Sans's gaze drop helplessly to Edge's bare spine. He can't see a scar. Edge said it so matter-of-factly, like there's no horror in it for him anymore. Like the fact that somebody almost killed him is nothing. A few years ago... Edge would've been, what, 17? Still gawky and half-grown, his bones like green wood, easier to splinter.

"Don't worry," Edge says. His expression is close to gentle as he ever gets. "We made him pay for it. He even lived."

"Great," Sans says, tired. It suddenly feels like there's miles between them, mutual incomprehension that all the talking in the world won't fix. "I'm so relieved."

Edge's mouth thins. He looks away. "I've been gone long enough. I'll leave you to your business. The king has an evening engagement. My brother is yours for the night if you want him."

"Maybe," Sans says, knowing it's probably 'yes'. If Red's willing, he can't make himself turn the opportunity down. "You sure you don't want food?"

"Let Red explain what you're offering first," Edge says.

"Fair enough," Sans says. He'd be a lousy diplomat, what with not giving a shit about cultural sensitivity. It's not like Edge didn't live off their food for the first couple weeks they were in this universe. Then again, he didn't have a choice back then. Sans shifts his weight on his feet. "And, uh, the touching thing. I'm not gonna freak if we bump shoulders once in a while, y'know? Friendly stuff. It'll just be weird if we try to keep five feet away from each other all the time."

"Friendly stuff," Edge echoes. His eyes are keen.

"Yeah. Like you'd do with Undyne or Pap."

Edge raises a brow. "You want me to punch you in the face?"

Sans chuckles. "Fair. All right, no. Just sitting next to each other on the couch during movie night or whatever. Passing the salt. Handshakes or shoulder pats or hugs, although I can't see you as the hugging type. I'm not gonna get the vapors if you touch me so long as you're not feeling me up."

"Interesting," Edge says. For a moment, Sans expects him to reach out. Is braced for it. Edge just readjusts his scarf. "Be careful."

Before Sans can decide if he wants to ask what to be careful about, Edge turns on his heel and leaves. Apparently they're not big on goodbyes where Edge is from.

"Bye, edgelord," Sans calls after him. "Try not to get your shoes when you're watering the flowers."

Over his shoulder, Edge gives him the finger.

Sans tells himself he doesn't breathe easier when Edge is gone.

***

"What does it mean when I offer you and Edge food?" Sans asks.

It seems like a good time to drop it on Red. They just got done screwing around. Sans didn't even try to get out of the post-coital snuggling, the two of them tangled up next to each other on Red’s mattress. If he's going to get an honest answer out of Red, it's going to be now. It doesn't count as manipulative if Red would do the same thing to him.

Red blinks at him, half-lidded as a sleepy cat, then snorts. "Aw shit, really? I was hoping to let that drag out another couple months."

"That good, huh?" Sans says. His fingers idly trace an old crack in Red's ribs. His attention keeps catching on Red’s battered soul, trying to figure out if it seems brighter tonight. "Edge told me to ask you."

"That asshole," Red says, clearly fond. "Well, guess he's the boss."

"I guess," Sans says. It gets him what he wants, but Red's whole thing with Edge, calling him boss and wearing the collar, sits uneasily in Sans's mind.

Red gives him a sidelong look, amused by his discomfort. Then he shrugs. "Food's a dicey thing back home. There ain't that many of us left, but there's always some asshole or other hoarding food. You gotta earn food. Fight for it, or steal it, or... other stuff."

Sans glances at Red's face, his direct unflinching stare. At a certain point, other people's pity just becomes another load to carry. So Sans says, "You poor bastard. They made you a mime."

A pause. Then Red laughs, harsh but real. "Nah, dude. That's nothing. They made me do balloon animals."

Sans shudders. "That's sick."

"Once there was community theater."

"Don't tell me any more. My heart can't take it."

"In my dreams, I still see the sock puppets."

"Don't bring your weird kinks into this."

Red laughs again, less sharp this time, and pulls Sans over to kiss him. That distracts them both for a couple minutes. By the time Red lets him go, his concentration is a little fuzzy, so he can be forgiven for not following when Red says, "It's a declaration of intent."

Sans wipes his mouth on his wrist and asks, "Sock puppets?"

"Trying to give people food, dumbass," Red says. "It's something you do to show you wanna hit that."

Sans stares at him. Red smirks. Sans manages to say, "I've been hitting on Edge."

"And me," Red says. "Since the first hour we showed up. Yeah. I guess it was love at first sight."

"Fuck off," Sans says, a kneejerk reaction that seems more mature than shoving Red and his love bullshit off the mattress.

"At least your bro waited until dinner," Red says, still grinning. "But you were all proactive and shit."

"On a scale of pick-up lines," Sans says, "are we talking 'what's your sign?' or 'nice shoes, wanna fuck?'"

"More like 'be mine and if anybody tries to fuck with you, I'll rip out their throat,'" Red says. "But if you're not related, fucking is kinda implied. Heh. Sometimes if you _are_ related."

Sans winces. "I'm surprised Edge didn't change his mind and decide to pull my head off after all."

"I think he was kinda impressed by your balls," Red says. "I mean, the whole thing is that you're telling somebody they can't handle themselves and they'd be better off with you in charge."

"Holy shit," Sans says, dragging a hand down his face. "You can stop now.”

"No, it gets better," Red says, cheerfully malicious. Sans groans. "See, it'd be crazy enough to try it on somebody wearing a collar, especially since my bro was standing right there, but at least it'd make sense. But you pretty much strolled up and tried to top him and me in one move. It was great."

Sans really just needs to stop talking. At some point, people had actually thought he was cool. Not anybody who spent longer than ten minutes with him, but still. His life would be a billion times easier if he just pulled a Gaster and refused to communicate except in cryptic bullshit text.

(Don't think about Gaster.)

Red pats his cheek, condescending. "Don't worry, man. Nobody got hurt. We both just kinda figured you were really stupid."

"Good call," Sans says.

"Then your bro tried to feed us too and he's not exactly the throat-ripping type, so we figured it was a cultural thing."

"I'm not the throat-ripping type," Sans says.

"Heh." Gently, Red's fingertips skim Sans's mouth. "Tell yourself whatever you want, Sansy, but don't try to bullshit me."

Sans doesn't bite him, mostly because Red would enjoy it. "I'd need a stepladder, for one thing."

"Depends on who you're killing," Red says, matter of fact. "And what you're killing them with."

"Can we not talk about murder while you're naked?" Sans says. "No. Scratch that. Can we not talk about murder?"

Red gives him a lopsided grin. "Gimme something better to do with my mouth."

"You could always tell me what Papyrus and Edge were fighting about the other day," Sans says.

"I could." Red takes his fingers off Sans's mouth and runs them, feather light, across his neck. Right where the collar would rest on Red. "You'd have to make it worth my while."

There's no pressure behind Red's hand, but Sans can't get words past them. It feels like he can’t get a full breath. He pushes Red's hand off, and Red lets him. Sans doesn't rub the place where Red's fingers were. "Depends on what you'd want."

"I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine," Red says. "Can't get something for nothing. Not even here."

It'd be nice to blame Red's dickish tendencies on his home universe. Unfortunately, Sans knows he'd be just this obnoxious to a non-Papyrus person asking him too many questions.

"You can ask," Sans says. "Won't promise I'll answer."

Red leans back to better look at him. He glances at the shirts Sans is still wearing, and for a couple seconds, Sans thinks he’s going to get out of this with a relatively simple half-truth. Low HP. Skeletons don’t get cold, but his body missed that memo. But no, Red says, "All right. So how many of your old fuckbuddies actually knew how to get you off?" Sans doesn't think he reacts, but he must; Red's grin sharpens. "Or did you get them all sweaty and grateful and then walk away without ever taking your pants off? After all, you're just a skeleton. Nothing for them to, heh, give you a hand with."

Fuck Red and his perceptive bullshit.

"You caught me," Sans says. "I've never known the touch of a man. At the convent, I used to dream of the day someone would show me an enormous dick. You're the enormous dick, Red. The dick is you."

Red snickers. "That works, because you're such a fucking pussy."

"Nobody's ever touched me like you before," Sans says. "You're just so bad at it."

"Yeah, I can tell you hate it because of the way you keep climbing on my dick." Red slides his hand just under the waistband of Sans's shorts. His fingers are almost hot to the touch, like Sans is running cold. "You wanna stop talking and I'll show you again?"

"I answered your question," Sans says, trying not to lean into Red, not being very successful. "Two of them, actually."

"You bullshitting for a couple minutes isn't an answer."

"Not my fault you weren't specific," Sans says. 

"Shame you're a judge, not a lawyer," Red says. "I'm the one with the information here. It’s a sellers market. Your answer don't count. Try again. Or let's just forget the whole twenty question things and I remind you why you keep coming back."

"You're not gonna find my bad taste in dudes in my pants." Red's fingers are creeping towards his pubic symphysis. Sans shifts, pinning Red's hand against the mattress. Red looks more interested. Sans asks, "Are you ever not horny?"

"I'm not gonna turn it down," Red says, shameless. "Life sucks. Might as well get off when you get the chance."

"That's profound," Sans says. "You know, Alphys once told me theoretical physicists are just philosophy majors who can do math."

Looking wounded, Red puts a hand to his chest. "Hey, I'm just saying I'm worried about your welfare here. Six years without anybody touching you? No wonder you're so screwed up."

"What an altruist," Sans says.

"What can I say? I'm just a nice fucking guy." Red leans forward to nuzzle Sans's jaw, then his throat. His tongue skirts the cartilage of one of Sans's vertebrae. He murmurs, "I'll be real nice to you if you let me."

Sans gives up. If he's gonna have to deal with the awkward fallout of fucking Red, he might as well get orgasms out of it. He hooks his fingers under Red's sternum, using that to drag him closer. It should be uncomfortable but not actually painful. Red growls at him. Sans nuzzles his snarling mouth and says, "I don't keep you around to be nice to me."

"Aww, sweetheart.” The growl lingers in Red’s voice like a distant warning. "That's what I like to hear."

**Author's Note:**

> content notes: offscreen physical child abuse of an OC, implied prostitution (Red), possible embarrassment squick (depending on your comfort level), dysfunctional relationships abound


End file.
